


One Good Reason

by sunlightdances (glowinghorizons)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Found Families, Mild Smut, One Night Stands, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24021295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/sunlightdances
Summary: Dean never brings women back to the bunker. It figures the one time he breaks his own rule, the state issues a lockdown. Navigating the next month is an exercise in trust, patience, and falling in love.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 23
Kudos: 86





	1. Lockdown

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 
> 
> I saw an article titled “Help! I’m Quarantined with my One Night Stand” and this small mini-series was born. This started as a fun idea and turned into a found families/slow burn type fic so literally who knows how my mind works.
> 
> This series is completely written, so I'll be posting new parts every week. There will be 5 parts! The first 2 chapters are mostly dialogue and setup, but there will be more fluff and a teeny tiny bit of smut towards the end. You can also read this on my [Tumblr](https://sunlightdances.tumblr.com)!

Dean wakes with a start to knocking on his bedroom door, groaning as the headache from last night’s alcohol hits him full force.

He barely registers someone else in bed with him as he staggers to the door, pulling it open forcefully. “What?” He growls.

“I–” Sam looks past him, seeing a head of mussed hair stirring in the bed, a shit-eating grin growing on his face. “Sorry… but I think you should see this.”

Dean looks behind him and debates his next move before he grabs the hoodie draped over his desk chair and follows his brother to the family room, the TV on. “What the hell is this? You brought me in here to watch the news?”

“Look–” Sam says, the ticker crawling at the bottom of the screen in all caps.

_**STATEWIDE LOCKDOWN IN EFFECT FOR 3 WEEKS TO HELP CURB SPREAD OF COVID-19 VIRUS. ALL NON-ESSENTIAL TRAVEL WILL BE PROHIBITED. THOSE WHO CAN WORK FROM HOME ARE ENCOURAGED TO DO SO PER THE GOVERNOR. FOR MORE INFORMATION…** _

Dean stops reading at that point, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “Is this–”

“I already called Cas.”

Dean glares. “Is this for real?”

Sam snickers. “You’re hungover and irritated, I get it. As far as I can tell, this isn’t some curse or something. Seems to be legit.” He trails off. “… But you have bigger problems.” His eyes track somewhere over Dean’s left shoulder, and Dean turns, watching as you come into view, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

You stop when you register them looking at you. “Uh, hi. Sorry, I– this is going to sound rude, but where the fuck am I?”

Dean takes a few steps closer on instinct, hungover mind processing a few… more _memorable_ moments from the night before. “This is my place. That’s my brother Sam.”

“Hi,” you say, pleasant, despite the circumstances. You introduce yourself to Sam a little awkwardly, and Dean’s mind is going a million miles per hour trying to figure out what the fuck he was thinking bringing a girl back here.

He sees the way you’re looking around, and knows how this must look. He tries to remember his drunk conversation from the night before - did he slip and tell you what he and Sam do for a living?

“Can I talk to you for a second?” He asks, but before he can finish his sentence, your attention is drawn to the TV where the news is still on.

“What’s going on?” You ask, taking a seat on the couch, comfortable as anything. Dean pauses - is he the only one feeling uncomfortable with this situation?

“The virus is getting worse,” Sam says. “The governor has locked down the state.”

“Oh, shit.” You whisper. Looking up at Dean, you have frown on the face Dean is realizing is even more pretty than he remembers from the dim light of the bar from the night before. “I should get out of here.” You say, getting to your feet.

Sam shares a look with Dean quickly before turning to you. “How far is home?”

“Uh, Iowa. I was here for a conference for work. At the hotel–” Dean sees you stop yourself, like you’re embarrassed about how you and him met. “Anyway.”

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to leave.” Sam says cautiously, and Dean cuts him off, knowing how this must sound.

“ _What he means_ is… I know this is weird, but that’s a long drive if you can’t get your flight changed. It might be better to wait it out here.”

You frown. “Sorry – but you’re complete strangers. Besides, I have to get back to work. I can’t just stay here.” You fidget, wringing your hands. “I’m going to go get my phone.” You take a few steps, muttering, “if I can find my way back,” under your breath.

Dean watches you go, and turns to Sam, hands on his hips. “Really?”

Sam shrugs, “What? Look, I get this is awkward, but if this virus is some–” he lowers his voice, “if it’s not _natural_ , there’s no telling how this is going to go.”

The sound of wings fluttering interrupts them, and Dean takes a few steps towards Castiel. “Well?”

Castiel sighs. “It’s just– it’s a pandemic. There’s nothing demon related, nothing apocalyptic about it. Just human illness.”

Dean paces. The right play here is to tell you to go. He never should have brought you back here anyway, and he doesn’t want you to feel stuck with three guys you barely know. That’s too much, and he doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea.

As if reading his mind, you come back into the room with your purse, and stop when you see the look on Dean’s face.

“Dean?”

Something inside him warms at the way you say his name. He doesn’t remember much from the night before, but he remembers _that_.

“Let me make you a cup of coffee.” He gestures for you to follow him and heads towards the kitchen. He gives Sam and Cas a look that says _absolutely do not follow me_.

“That other guy a roommate of yours? You could have 20 people living in this place.” You comment.

He snorts. “No kidding.” He busies himself turning on the coffee maker. “Sorry about all this.”

“It’s not your fault.”

The coffee begins brewing, and Dean sits across from you. He watches you fiddle with the necklace around your neck, and has a vivid memory of it dangling over him as you straddled him, the metal glinting in his eyes as you leaned down to kiss him– _nope_. He has to concentrate.

“Sam had a point,” he says lightly. “Might not be a great idea to fly cross country during this.”

You meet his eyes. “Don’t really have a choice. I’m supposed to be back at work on Monday, and haven’t heard anything from my boss.”

An awkward silence settles over the two of you.

“I take it you don’t do this very often?” You ask, and Dean scoffs, getting up to pour the coffee.

“What, make a girl coffee?”

You laugh. Dean likes the way it sounds.

“Make a girl coffee _or_ have a girl at your place. You seem a little tense.” A beat. “No offense.”

Dean sets the coffee in front of you, and you ask for sugar. He smiles, but even he knows it’s probably a little weak.

He knows his reasons for not having girls back to the bunker, but what is he supposed to tell you? _Oh yeah, I don’t really bring one night stands back here because my brother and I are in the supernatural hunting business and usually some crazy shit goes down. Hope you don’t mind!_

“I’m going to call my boss and see what he thinks. Check in with my parents too,” you say, idly stirring the sugar in your mug. “I can go back to the hotel if they think I should stay–”

Dean looks up, “Wait, I–” He shakes his head. “I know this is weird, but like you said, we have plenty of room. There’s no sense in you paying for a hotel room. Especially since we have no idea how long we could be stuck here.”

“Are you sure? Dean, this is–”

“Fucked.” Dean grins. “This whole thing is crazy and… I don’t know. If you don’t want to be alone, you don’t have to be.” He gestures towards your phone. “Make your calls. Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. I’m going to shower really quick and then I can give you a ride back there if you need it.”

The smile you give him is soft, though a little guarded, and he has to leave before he does something stupid like try to convince you to come back to his room.

He takes a few steps down the hall before Sam catches up with him, clearly having been eavesdropping. He’s got that smug smile back on his face, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” A few more steps. “Is she going to stay?”

“Not sure. But if she does, you’re going to keep your trap shut. This is weird enough as it is without my brother trying to play matchmaker.”

Sam’s laugh follows Dean down the hall as he heads for the shower, trying to figure out how the hell he’s going to get through three weeks without this girl figuring out what he does for a living.


	2. Re-Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another setup chapter. Dean and the Reader get to re-know each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You hang up with your boss, a little stunned by how quick he was to tell you to stay where you are. You haven’t really thought this through at all - you have to get your laptop, and figure out how you’re going to basically live with three strangers and manage not to get a potentially deadly virus. Easy.

Dean comes back after a while, freshly showered, and you do your best not to stare at the way his shirt sticks to his damp chest, or how sharp his jaw looks now that he’s shaved.

You’re still berating yourself for being so stupid. You hardly ever go home with people, especially strangers. But after a work conference where you were routinely talked over by your male counterparts, you needed a drink, and headed to the nearest bar, where you met Dean.

You were captivated by him right away. He was obviously attractive, but you think it’s his personality that really did you in - charming and funny, a little self-deprecating - and before you could tell yourself it was a bad idea, you were kissing him against the brick wall outside on the way to his car.

Why you didn’t just go back to your hotel, you have no clue.

And now this.

“Sounds like I’m going to take you up on your offer,” you say, “if it still stands.”

He’s surprised for a second, but covers it well. “Are you sure?”

“Well, I don’t really have any other options. I could fly home right now, but looking online, the lines at the airport and ticket prices to change my flight mean I’d be spending way more than I can afford.” You fiddle with your phone. “If this isn’t too weird, I think staying here would be the best option.” You suddenly feel a swell of anxiety at the entire situation.

Dean must pick up on your mood swing, because he reaches over, taking your hand, surprising you. “Hey, like I said earlier. Probably better you’re not alone, huh?” He gives your hand a squeeze before letting go, getting to his feet with renewed resolve. “Want a tour?”

.

The hallways are never-ending. You have to admit - the cool tile floors and walls and deep wood paneling everywhere is intricate, and you sort of can’t believe this place is real.

“We inherited this place from our grandfather,” Dean tells you, walking slow next to you. “He was– eccentric.”

You snort. “No kidding.”

“Still - we weren’t going to turn it down.”

You look at Dean questioningly.

“Sam and I– we were– army brats.” He seems to stumble over the words, but you’ve known people who grew up like he and his brother, and they never liked to talk about it either. “We moved around a lot. When our Dad died, we just– felt kind of lost. This place was our first chance to put down some roots.”

He shows you the large bathrooms and a few bedrooms, telling you that you should pick whatever one you like.

“We have to go for a grocery run, so we can stop by the hotel and get the rest of your stuff then.”

You notice he skips past a few doors on his way back to the kitchen, but you don’t ask, not wanting to be rude.

“Sure, that would be good.” You pause, “Uh, any chance you have gloves and a mask? Might want it at the store.”

He frowns. “Shit, you’re right.” He snaps his fingers when he remembers something, “I work on cars, I definitely have gloves and might have a mask or two.”

You both pause for a minute as the reality of the situation sets over you.

“Uh, Dean? Should we–” You stop, anxiety swelling again, “We’ve never met before yesterday, and I traveled here. Are you sure I should stay here? What if I’m sick? What if I give it to you, and you give it to your brother, and your friend–”

“Hey,” Dean’s voice is calm, soothing, as he bends his knees slightly so he can look you in the eye. “If you’re sick, then I’ve got it already. The best thing we can do is just hang out here and wait. Hopefully we’re both good, but we’ll figure it out either way, okay?”

You try to take a few deep breaths. “You’re right. Okay.”

“Come on, a few more places to see, and then we’ll go get your stuff.”

After a few more minutes, the two of you end up back in the kitchen where you started.

Sam is there, and sends you a reassuring smile. He’s scribbling on a piece of paper, and passes it over across the table. “Grocery list,” he says, “add whatever you want.” You start to protest, but he stops you. “You’re stuck here with us; it’s the least we can do.”

Embarrassingly, you feel tears well in your eyes. This is– well, the situation and circumstances suck. But the way it’s playing out? These guys are being more welcoming to you than most of your friends would be.

You write a few things, not wanting to overstep, and slide it back to Sam.

“We’ll drop you back at the hotel and then we can pick you up after we get groceries. Sound good?” Dean asks, and you nod.

A half hour later, you’re waving at them as they drive into town towards the Kroger, and you head up to your hotel room. The cleaning crew is working overtime, apparently, and you’re grateful that you have a place to get your bearings for a few minutes.

In your room, you pack up whatever you had out of your suitcase and head into the bathroom to take a shower and get your toiletries. At the last minute, you swipe a few extra tiny shampoos and conditioners - you have no idea if Sam and Dean have anything for guests, and who knows if Amazon would even be able to find their place.

Dean texts you after another half hour saying that they’re coming to get you and wanting to know if you need help with your bags. You text him your room number and head over to open the door, leaving it propped open by your backpack.

A few minutes later, a soft knock on the open door alerts you to Dean, standing in the doorway, a soft smile on his face.

“Hey. Need a hand?”

You nod, suddenly unsure of what to say. You feel different now that you’re here, in a hotel room with him. All you can picture is what it would have been like if you had stayed here with him last night.

He clears his throat to get your attention, your gaze having slipped to the bed.

“Having second thoughts?”

Is it just you, or is his voice a little huskier as he looks at you? You remember his eyes being one of the big reasons you were attracted to him the night before. A deep olive green, you find yourself unable to look away now, wondering if he’s feeling even a fraction of what you’re feeling right now.

You jerk yourself out of your thoughts. “Uh– no. No, let’s go. I’m all packed.” You’ve had your purse since the night before, so you stuff it in your backpack and haul it over your shoulder. Dean takes your larger suitcase, and then you’re following him out, down the stairs, and out to the parking lot where Sam is waiting.

You feel the heat of Dean’s hand at the small of your back, and you wonder if he even realizes he’s doing it.

Back home, the bunker, they affectionately call it, Dean reminds you where the bedrooms are and tells you to pick whichever one you like. You still feel a little awkward about doing it at all, but you choose a pretty bare bedroom and start unpacking the clothes you’ve got with you.

Sam finds you a while later. “Hey,” he says after knocking gently on the door to get your attention. “I just wanted to make sure you were getting settled okay.”

You smile, though you’re sure it’s a little awkward. “As well as I can be,” you shrug. “Thank you, again, for letting me stay. I would have gone crazy at the hotel.”

Sam opens his mouth to say something else, but he’s interrupted by Dean appearing in the doorway. The two seem to have a silent conversation before Sam gives you one more smile and then heads off down the hall.

“Have everything you need?” Dean asks.

You nod, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. Why was this so unbearably awkward? You’ve literally seen each other naked. Feeling heat rise to your cheeks, that’s suddenly all you can think about.

“I think I’m going to do some work - try to get things sorted. If that’s okay.”

Dean shifts his weight. “Of course– I… don’t feel like you need to tiptoe around this place. Or me,” he adds, meeting your eyes.

“Thanks, Dean.”

Something shifts in the air between you, and you start to think that maybe this won’t be so terrible after all.


	3. Uncomfortably Intimate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter this time as Dean and the Reader get used to living together. Also - something strange is happening at the bunker, and it’s not just Dean and the Reader pretending they’re not attracted to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

_**2.5 weeks later** _

You hiss as you get out of bed, the cool floor underneath you a shock first thing in the morning. You rifle through your suitcase, grabbing a hoodie and pulling it on, as well as a thick pair of socks. Yawning, you open your door and head down the hallway to the kitchen.

“Morning,” you say quietly to Dean, who’s already dressed at the table, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. You narrow your eyes at him. Who looks that good first thing in the morning? His shirtsleeves are rolled up on his forearms, 

“Hi,” he says back, meeting your eyes briefly. It’s always like this - the two of you a little shy during the first conversation of the day. “Did you sleep okay?” 

“Yeah,” you say, sighing, “I kept hearing noises. Were you and Sam up late?” 

Dean looks up curiously. “I mean, we were up later than you.” He frowns, “Didn’t mean to keep you up.” 

You start to get stuff together for your coffee, and scowl when you realize the almond milk you like is empty. And back in the fridge.

“It’s fine,” you tell him absently. You roll your eyes to yourself as you grab the now empty milk carton out of the fridge and set it on the counter with the rest of the empties waiting to be recycled - two empty boxes of cereal, and half a dozen beer bottles. 

“Is it too much to ask for someone to not put an empty carton of milk in the fridge?” 

Dean glances up from his laptop. He and Sam have been working on something for a few days, but he hasn’t mentioned details, and you haven’t asked.

“Don’t look at me,” he replies, “You and Sam are the only ones who drink that crap.” He makes a face at the carton of almond milk.

You sigh, and add the carton to the pile. “We have to go to the store again.” 

“See, you say _we_ , but you mean _me_.” 

You smile sweetly, tilting your head. “But Dean. Think about how much you want to drive your car. Might as well run an errand, right?”

You can tell he’s trying not to smile. “You’re trouble.” 

You hum, trying to figure out what else you’re going to have for breakfast now that milk is out of the question. 

“Lactose intolerant?” He asks, going back to typing. 

“Oh, not sure, actually. Just like the taste better.” 

He hums. You stare at him for a bit, trying to figure him out. Dean is so _mysterious_ , but still makes himself open, makes you feel comfortable and safe. It’s such a strange feeling. Still, you will not let his or his brother’s good looks make you forget why you’re a little irritated this morning. 

Living with men is…. _Hard_. They’re constantly leaving messes everywhere (even though Dean has tendencies to clean everything when he’s bored) and the volume at which they play video games together…. Astronomical. 

Your point is proven a few hours later when you’re on a call with your work team and even though you’re muted so they can’t hear Sam or Dean, you can’t hear a thing being said to you. “Can you guys excuse me just one minute?” You ask apologetically, and then take your headset off, storming down the hall.

You burst through the door and they barely even glance at you. Fuming, you walk right in front of the TV and stand there, arms crossed as they sputter. 

“Hey! You make a better door than you do a window, you know.” Dean says, leaning to see around you. 

“You are _children_.” You huff, blowing the hair that has escaped your ponytail out of your face. “I am on a work call. It’s important, and I can’t hear anything.”

Sam looks a little sheepish. “We thought with the door closed--” 

“We can’t be _that_ loud.” Dean interrupts. 

You look at him like he’s grown another head. “All I’m asking is for a half hour of quiet. That’s it. I’m begging you.” You say, trying to turn on the charm. “Dean?” 

He grumbles under his breath, but you can see the fight leaving him. “A half hour?” 

“Maybe less,” you reason with him.

“Fine.” 

You manage to finish your work call without any other disruptions, but by the time you’re finished, Sam and Dean are watching the news and you’re slipping into a worse and worse mood. 

You’re more homesick than you’ve ever been. The weight of all of it is too much, and you excuse yourself from the room before you can burst into tears. 

You hate this - you hate the whole state of the world and you hate that it’s forced you into the most awkward situation of your life, all because you couldn’t resist a pretty pair of eyes and a sense of humor. 

You find your way to your room and curl in a ball on your bed, the unfamiliar texture of the blanket under you making your heart clench. 

You start a YouTube video on your laptop, some mindless cooking videos that play on a loop until you manage to fall into a restless sleep. 

.

.

.

Dean approaches your door hesitantly. He has no idea what he should do - if he should leave you alone, or try to apologize. Though if he’s honest, he’s not even sure what he should apologize for. 

He’s just got a general guilty feeling coursing through his body. It’s his fault you’re stuck here, after all. 

He notices the door isn’t shut all the way, so he pushes it open gently. The room is dark except from the light coming from your computer, and you’re curled in a ball on top of the covers. 

Dean finds that he can’t stop staring at you, and wills himself to stop standing there like a creep. He pulls a throw blanket off the end of the bed and covers you with it, reaching over to push your laptop closed. 

His mind has been flashing back to that first night with you, trying to understand what made you so different. He’s liked having you around, even if he won’t admit it to anyone who asks. He still feels that connection he felt the first night, but he has no idea what you’re thinking, and he doesn't want to push or pressure you, especially when you can’t leave even if you wanted to.

Leaving the room, he finds Sam and Cas in the kitchen. Cas has an armful of groceries. 

“You better wipe those down,” Dean says, and Cas rolls his eyes.

“I can’t get sick, Dean.” He says it like he’s talking to a child.

“And what are you going to tell her when she wakes up?” He asks, gesturing towards the hall where you’re sleeping. “We don’t have any backup plan if things get weird.” 

As if on cue, the lights above them flicker. Just once, but enough that the three of them freeze, eyes suddenly sharp.

“You’re kidding me.” Sam says. 

A flutter of wings, and Cas is gone. 

“What the fuck?” Dean asks, and Sam shrugs. 

“Went to check it out? He’ll be back.” 

“He can’t keep flying off. He’s going to slip up one of these days and appear in front of her and she’s going to pass out.” 

Sam snickers. “You’re awfully protective.” 

Dean ignores him, but he can’t deny it either. He feels it in his gut, to make sure you don’t find out the truth about him and Sam, and to make sure you feel comfortable while you’re here. Maybe it’s his innate need to take care of people, but the small voice in the back of his mind that he rarely listens to tells him it’s something else.

The lights flicker again, and Dean moves to the doorway, sighing. “We better figure this out, and soon.” 

“You think it’s possible she brought something here with her?” 

Dean stops, because he never even considered it. He just figured it was his own bad luck that while he’s trying to conceal who he really is from a girl he maybe sort of likes, a ghost would start haunting the bunker. Maybe it was Charlie here to finally give him the ass kicking he deserves for getting a girl like you stuck in this mess. 

“I have no idea.” 

Suddenly there are footsteps, and Dean shushes Sam before he can reply. You come into view a minute later, rubbing your fingers through your hair, and Dean finds he wants to do it for you. He shakes it off. 

“Problems with the electrical in this place?” You ask.

Sam makes a choked noise that has you looking at him in alarm. “Uh-- yeah.” He recovers, “It’s an old place. You know.” 

“Uh huh.” You look back at Dean for confirmation, and he shrugs. 

“Slept okay?” He asks, changing the subject completely before he can put his foot in his mouth. 

You nod. “Needed a nap.” 

Dean looks a little closer and thinks he can see dried tear tracks on your cheeks. It has him reacting automatically, taking a step closer, but he sees you shrink back and he stops immediately, snapping back into awareness of what he’s doing. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” you mumble, and then you’re gone, leaving Dean staring at his shoes, clenching his jaw and trying to figure out how you’re all get through a month more of this. 

Cas appears back in the kitchen, and Dean glares. 

“You have to stop doing that.” 

“I think there’s a spirit in the bunker.” Cas says, ignoring Dean’s warning. 

Sam groans, head tipping backwards. “Great. Good. Couldn’t be better timing.” 

Dean puts his hands on his hips, sighing. “Look, tonight we’ll hunt it. Just-- we’ll wait until she’s asleep and hope it heads to the opposite end of the bunker.” He turns to Cas, “And _you._ Walk. You have to walk.” 

Cas rolls his eyes, and Dean truly wonders if he’s going to make it through quarantine without killing his best friend or his brother, and if he can keep them all _and_ you from being murdered by a vengeful spirit. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I get some feedback on this chapter, I'll post chapter 4 on Friday instead of next Tuesday! Let me know what you guys think and let me know if you're enjoying this story :)


	4. Ghost Adventures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Quick note about the rating: This chapter is PG-13, slightly M for mature situations.** The reader gets sucked into a ghost hunt, and Dean finds himself unable to lie about who he really is anymore. An honest conversation leads to more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for getting this posted a day late! Working from home is a blessing during this time but also makes it so other computer tasks seem impossible. In any case, I hope this chapter makes up for the wait!

It’s three in the morning when your eyes snap open. You’re startled, but can’t tell if something woke you up, or if you were dreaming.

It’s dark - unnaturally dark, even for the bedroom you’ve taken over, and you can’t get rid of the feeling that someone’s watching you. 

You hear voices far off, and wonder if Dean and Sam are still gaming, or if something else is going on. You find it hard to believe that someone could have broken into this place, but still you’re on edge. 

Finding the courage to get out of bed, you pull your sweatshirt on over your head, hood up, and head carefully to the door leading to the corridor. You find yourself hesitating, and almost jump back when you feel how cold the doorknob is. “What the hell?” You whisper to yourself, pulling open the door just to see if maybe the heating went out during the night. 

As soon as the door is open, you can tell something’s not right. 

It’s so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, and you can see your breath. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have stayed here,” you mutter to yourself, trying to find your way down the hall only by the light of the dim emergency lights on the wall. 

Far from you but loud enough for you to hear it, someone _screams_. 

You’re frozen, your heart thumping in your ears and the sound of your blood rushing all you can hear. This is it, you think, you’re going to be murdered here in this weird house by a guy you barely know and his freakishly tall brother, and-- 

You stop at the sound of running footsteps, and suddenly the lights flicker on overhead. You wince, and when you open your eyes again, Dean’s there, looking pale and walking towards you as fast as he can. 

“Back inside,” he says, gruff, tugging on your elbow. 

“Dean--” You’re suddenly frozen with fear. 

He must sense it, because he stops too, meeting your eyes. “Look, I’m sorry, and I’ll explain it all later, but please, you have to get back inside your room. The doorframe is iron so it should keep it out, but--” 

“What are you _talking_ about?” 

“I know you have no reason to trust me because I couldn’t keep it in my pants and now you’re stuck here with me, but if there’s any part of you that trusts me at all, I need you to listen.” 

You frown, “I _do_ trust you.” You say it without hesitating.

Dean pauses, his eyes suddenly more intense and dark, and you’re snapped into awareness about how close the two of you are - every single gold fleck in his eyes is visible. He swallows hard.

“Good. Just-- don’t come out until I come to get you.” 

He’s only taken two steps out your bedroom door when something collides with him, and you’re moving towards him before you can even think about it. 

You can’t begin to comprehend what you’re seeing - Dean struggling with -- a woman? She’s there, and then she isn’t, flickering almost like she’s being projected into existence. More footsteps from the other direction, and then Sam is pushing you to one side, swinging a tire iron with all his might. The woman fizzles, and disappears.

Dean meets your eyes immediately, surprising you. “Are you okay?” He asks, voice rough. 

“Am _I_ okay? Dean--” You’re flustered. “What the _fuck_?” 

He groans, getting to his feet with the help of his brother. “It’s a spirit.” 

“A ghost.” Sam adds.

“You’re crazy. The both of you.” 

Dean’s eyes are intense like they always are, but there’s something else there, a pleading, a desperation for you to understand. “We don’t have a lot of time, it’s going to come back--” There’s a wail from another room, and Dean curses before grabbing your arm again, dragging you inside your bedroom. “Sam,” he barks, holding out his free hand, and Sam places the crowbar there. Dean hands it to you. “Anything comes through that door, you swing.”

You laugh, but it’s a little hysterical. This is just-- this can’t be happening. You wonder if you’ve got the virus and your fever is so bad that you’re hallucinating this entire thing.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice quieter, “I should have told you from the start. But I’m not going to let you get hurt.” 

You feel it again, the voice inside you screaming that you should trust him. “Okay,” you say finally. “Okay. Just-- tell me what to do.” 

Something flickers in his eyes as he takes in the way you round your shoulders in determination, eyes hardening a fraction. A small smile takes over his face, and you’re struck again how it completely changes him.

“Spirits don’t like iron. The doorframe should keep anything out. Just in case--” he gestures to the crowbar. “-- that’s what this is for.”

“Can’t it just come through the walls?”

“Iron in the walls, too.” He assures you. Taking a small step closer, he reaches for your hand, squeezing. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll be back soon.” 

You sit on the edge of the bed, and you’re literally frozen. You can’t even begin to understand what you just saw, or what’s happening outside. 

You wonder idly if you’re dissociating. How long have you been sitting here? How long has it been since Dean looked at you with those eyes and promised nothing bad would happen to you?

The doorknob rattles and you react on instinct. You’re on your feet, hoping you’re moving quietly, and somewhere there should have been a voice in your head saying a ghost wouldn’t try the doorknob, because the next thing you know, you’re swinging a crowbar right at Dean. 

“Shit,” he swears when you clip him, his hand flying to his eyebrow. “It’s me!” 

“Oh my god,” the crowbar clatters to the floor. “I’m so sorry.” 

He groans, holding his hand up at you in a signal to get you to hang on. 

“Dean, I’m _so_ \--” 

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” He peeks open an eye, squinting at you, “Are you okay?” 

“I mean, besides having an existential crisis because you just told me you were _fighting a ghost_?”

He nods, motioning for you to wrap it up. “Yeah, yeah. Besides that.” He smiles softly at you. “Really. You’re not hurt?” 

“No.” 

“Okay then.” 

.

.

.

An hour later, you’re crowded into the bathroom with Dean, trying to see the bruise on his temple as he tries to bat your hands away.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been bruised before.” 

You glare, “Okay, well _I’ve_ never hit someone over the head before, so bear with me, will you?” 

At this angle, him leaning against the sink, you’re at eye level, and you can feel his eyes roving all over your face. It makes you want to squirm away from him, from the intensity you sometimes feel from him that scares you. 

“You’re good at this,” he murmurs.

“Hold this,” you say, just as quiet, handing him a damp washcloth to press against his head. “I thought for awhile I might go into nursing.” 

He hums an acknowledgement. 

“I like to help people, but I didn’t have the-- the heart for it. It was too much. I was in tears almost every day of my residency.”

He frowns. “You got that far and didn’t go through with it?” 

You shrug. “Like I said… I couldn’t bear it. It was too much. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life like that.” 

His eyes are practically burning holes into you. It equally thrills you and terrifies you. There’s a part of you that still has no idea what he really thinks about you. You’re still learning each other and trying to figure each other out. 

He says your name then, so softly, and there’s something else there, something bubbling underneath that has you pausing, meeting his eyes, and unable to breathe. No one has ever looked at you the way Dean Winchester looks at you. 

“I think I owe you an explanation about all this.” He waves his hands vaguely. 

“Maybe at least about tonight.” 

“Do you--” He stops himself. It’s so fascinating to see his different facets - cocky and confident one minute, and careful and quiet the next. “Do you want to have breakfast with me?” He makes a face. “I mean, we can eat and I’ll tell you about this. If you promise not to freak out.” 

“Are you asking me on a date?” 

The tips of his ears go red. “Maybe.” 

You grin. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

You nod. 

His smile is-- you want to see it every day. “Meet me in the kitchen at nine? Still have a few more hours to get some sleep.” 

Turns out you barely get any more sleep. You’re excited. It’s stupid, really. You feel like a teenager again. But it’s fine, because Dean is making you breakfast, and even though obviously you feel like there’s so much about him you have to learn, you already know he’s a phenomenal cook. 

A few hours later, you spend an embarrassing amount of time doing and redoing your hair, and settling on an outfit that was just the right amount of casual. You head down to the kitchen and are surprised when you look around and see there’s no signs of a struggle anywhere around the bunker… you wonder if Dean got any more sleep at all. 

But he’s there, his back to you, in a plain black t-shirt and a pair of fitted gray sweatpants, humming to himself as he flips something on the stove, coffee bubbling away happily next to him in the coffeemaker. 

“Hi,” you say, suddenly shy.

He turns to you, “Hey.” A smile that sets the butterflies in your stomach flying. “Hope you like french toast.” 

Breakfast is a quiet, companionable affair - both of you scrolling through your phones and catching up on the latest news while you eat. Dean has two cups of coffee before you finish your first. 

“Well, the entire world is going to shit,” he declares, setting his phone down. Slowly, he reaches for your hand and tugs your phone out of your hands too. “Let’s talk about ghosts.” 

You laugh, and just like that, you feel at ease.

Dean starts from the beginning. He tells you about his Mom, and how he and Sam grew up. He tells you about some more memorable moments, but you suspect he’s sparing you some dark stuff, which you’re grateful for. The world is hard enough right now, and you’re not sure you can take much more bad news. 

“This is the safest place in the world,” he assures you. “I have no idea how a spirit got in here. The place is warded-- but it’s happened before.” 

“I don’t know what to say.” 

He tilts his head, considering you. “You’re not freaked?” 

“I mean, of course I am. But--” You hesitate. “I trust you when you say you won’t let anything happen to me.” 

His eyes go a little darker. Not a lot, but enough for you to notice. You suppress a shiver.

“Good.” His voice is rough.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Anything.” 

“Why did you bring me home with you?” You rush to clarify, “It’s just-- obviously you don’t bring people back here that often. And I had a room at the hotel--” 

“You want me to be honest?” He asks, and his eyes are so, so dark as he looks at you. You nod. “I wanted to see you in my bed.” His voice is raw, body tilted towards you, open. “You’re gorgeous, and I wanted to see you there, where I sleep.” 

Fire races through your veins. You have patchy memories of Dean talking to you like this that first night, but the memories pale in comparison to the real thing. 

“That scare you?” He asks.

“Yes,” you’re honest with him, “But it’s also-- no one’s ever said anything like that to me before.” 

He looks at you for a long time before standing abruptly, the chair nearly toppling over in his haste to get to his feet. He holds out his hand to you. 

You recognize the invitation for what it is, and against your better judgment, you scramble out of your chair and meet his stride, your fingers locking with his like they were always meant to. 

He tugs you out of the room and down the hall with purpose, but right before you turn the corner to his bedroom, he stops short, crowding you against the wall. “If you don’t want this, I need you to tell me right now.” 

“I want you,” you reply, for once in your life listening to your heart rather than your head.

His kiss is consuming. He doesn’t ease into it - he _takes_ , and you practically go boneless against him, your weak knees and pounding heart causing him to smile against your lips. His left hand is buried in your hair and the other is on your hip, sliding low enough to press you against him right where you can feel he’s aching for you. 

Dean groans when you whimper into his mouth, and you tear your mouth away from his, only to have him start kissing down your neck. 

“Dean, bedroom.” 

“In a minute.” His gravelly voice is going to give you a heart attack, you swear.

“Please?” You ask him, and he groans again, grinding his hips into yours. 

“Jesus, you’re going to be the death of me.” 

“Inside, Dean. Take me to bed.” 

One last kiss and then he’s dragging you behind him down the hall and into his bedroom, the door slamming shut behind you both.


	5. Jeremy Bearimy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter switches POVs, so just a heads up. Fast forward a month. Lockdown continues, and the Reader and Dean have the dreaded “what do we do after this” conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The final chapter. Thank you so much for reading this story! I’ve had a lot of fun writing it. I don’t own Dean or Supernatural, but the plot and writing is mine, so please don’t repost it without my permission.

Dean checks his watch for the fourth time that morning, ignoring Sam’s smirk.

“You could just go wake her up,” Sam says.

Dean shakes his head. “Do you remember what happened the last time I did that?” He pulls his phone out of his jeans pocket and opens his text thread with you.

**Are you awake?**

Almost instantly, you reply.

_Yes, but I’m going back to bed._

**?? It’s noon**

Time isn’t real, Dean

Dean laughs despite himself, and when Sam looks over questioningly, he waves him off, getting to his feet. He heads down the hallways towards the bedrooms, and feels the anticipation of seeing you for the first time in a day. He scoffs at himself - he feels like a damn teenager.

He doesn’t hate the feeling, though. It’s crazy to him that at a time like this, he’s managed to be happier than he has in years.

He thought he would regret you staying here with him. He definitely regrets how it happened, but it couldn’t be going better. From the start, you were a light where he never knew he needed one. You laughed and hummed under your breath, and bickered with him about the most mundane things… and _god_ if that didn’t awaken something Dean thought was long dead inside him.

As he turns the doorknob to your bedroom, he’s again greeted with that familiar swooping sensation in his stomach. Though he’s spent the last few weeks getting to know in intimate details what makes you tick and what makes you shudder from head to toe… the way you look at him over your shoulder wearing _his_ shirt-- his knees feel a little weak at the sight.

“I thought I told you I was going back to sleep.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Come on. Let’s do something.”

“Like what?” You prop yourself up on one elbow.

“I know you’re bored--”

“Dean, I _hate it_. I can’t do this anymore.”

“I think you’re being a little dramatic.”

You pout, and he wants to kiss it off. “Any news?”

“Nothing good,” Dean admits, sighing. He walks over and sits on the edge of your bed. His hand finds your thigh and he squeezes gently, feeling how soft your skin is under his calloused hand, and he smiles softly when he sees goosebumps break out on your leg. “You can’t stay here and think all day,” he says.

“Sure I can.”

Dean nudges you until you scoot over, and when you do, he stretches out next to you, putting his arm around your shoulder. “You want to help me with something?”

You groan, “More _work_?”

Dean laughs. “Sort of. But it might be fun. Come on, get dressed and meet me in the garage.”

.

.

.

When you appear in the garage a half hour later, Dean almost drops the wrench in his hand on his face. You’re in a pair of jeans he’s seen before, but your plain t-shirt is covered up by one of his flannel shirts. He whistles, low, and you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, and Dean takes that as a win compared to how you felt earlier in the day.

“I need to do laundry,” you explain.

“No you don’t,” he counters. “Looks fine to me.”

“What did you drag me away from the TV for?”

Dean gestures for you to come closer. “You’re bored, and I need a hand. Ever worked on a car before?”

You laugh and come over to sit cross-legged next to him. “Helped my Dad out a time or two, but didn’t really retain any of that information. You shouldn’t trust me to do anything with this car.”

Dean talks through a couple of quick fixes - he explains what he’s working on and tells you a few more memorable stories about him and Sam growing up with this car. You’re not really helping at all, he realizes, but still looks at you with a fond smile as you laugh and flip a wrench around between your fingers.

He tries to remember the last time he felt this comfortable with a woman but comes up short.

“Alright.” He slides out from under the car, sweat dripping down his temples. “I need a shower.”

“I suppose I can go bother Sam for a while,” you say, shrugging.

“Or you could come with me,” Dean says, winking.

You shake your head, heading down the hallway without looking back, but he can hear your laugh from where he stands watching you go. There’s a tightening in his gut with every minute that passes, because he can’t shake the feeling that it’s too good to be true. Dean Winchester doesn’t get this lucky. Not while the rest of the world is going to shit. Those two don’t go hand in hand.

Burying the angst, he heads to the shower, and tries not to think about the inevitable.

.

.

.

Sam enlists your help with lunch. Just sandwiches, but it’s enough to keep your hands and mind busy. Being with Dean earlier helped too, but you’re still feeling so worn down. You want to crawl back into bed.

“You okay?” Sam asks. He doesn’t look up from where he’s slicing a tomato.

“I guess so.” You sigh. “Just sick of being cooped up.”

“I feel you.” Sam agrees, pushing the cutting board away from him slightly. He reaches for a loaf of bread, and you hand him the cheese and ham you sliced. “It’s hard to be stuck in here. Even if this place is huge.” He finishes the sandwiches and hands you a plate. “You could help me with some research I’m doing, if you want something else to do.”

Since your last meeting with your company, you’ve been furloughed. It meant no more meetings, which you were thankful for, but also no work to do. You’re struggling to keep yourself occupied instead of letting all the days run together.

“Sure,” you say, perking up at the idea of actually putting your mind to good use. “What are you working on?”

Sam looks a little hesitant as you both sit down at the small table in the kitchen. “It’s-- for a case.”

Aside from the few small conversations you’ve had with Dean about this, you obviously are pretty sheltered from these things. You find yourself a little eager to learn more.

Sitting down with Sam, he gives you the basics on something they’re working on. Turns out even hunting can be done remotely. A friend of a friend has a haunting - something you’ve recently become familiar with.

After an hour or so, you’re interrupted by Dean.

“What is this?” He asks, gesturing at the table.

“Sam needed help,” you say without looking up from your laptop. You’re researching the history of this home while Sam tries to find out if there were any deaths on the property.

“Sam.” Dean’s voice is a bark, and you meet his eyes slowly, feeling like you’re the kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Can I have a word?”

Sam looks wary, but he smiles at you before standing and meeting Dean out in the hallway.

.

.

.

Dean doesn’t know why it was so jarring to see you sitting there researching with Sam. He also doesn’t know why he feels this… _panic_ welling up inside him.

“What are you doing, asking her to help you with that?”

Sam looks bored. “Dean, come on.”

“I’m serious! This isn’t her life.”

“Why don’t you tell me what this is really about, because the last time I checked, you told her our life story and me having her do a little research isn’t a big deal.” Sam crosses his arms over his chest.

Dean doesn’t say anything, because deep down he knows Sam is right. He just really, really doesn’t want to face that head on.

“Everything okay?” You ask, peeking your head out around the doorframe.

“Fine.”

You arch a brow. “Really? It doesn’t sound fine. It sounds like you were arguing about me.”

Dean puts his hands on his hips. “We weren’t--”

“Do I get a say in this?” You ask, mirroring his stance, and hot damn if Dean doesn’t think you’re attractive when you’re gearing up for a fight. He shakes the thought away.

“I just-- I don’t want you to feel like you need to do this. This isn’t… this doesn’t have to be part of your life.” _You’ll forget all about it when you leave us, anyway._

“It’s just busy work, Dean. I’m so bored.”

He sighs, “Fine. Just-- nothing more than research.”

Sam laughs. “Where the hell are we going to go, Dean?”

Dean glares at his brother. “Forget it.”

He’s walking away from both of you before he can say anything else he might regret, trying to ignore the flash of hurt that washed over your pretty features as you stood up for yourself.

.

.

.

Dean is overreacting. You know that, Dean knows that, and Sam knows it, if the way he told you not to worry about it is any indication.

“He-- _we_ have a bad track record bringing friends into this.”

You assume your unease shows on your face, because Sam continues-- “I don’t want to scare you but I don’t want to sugarcoat this. It’s dangerous. Even just starting out doing research can lead to other types of hunting, and he’s just being protective.”

“There’s something else, though.”

Sam doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t disagree, either. And that’s when you know you and Dean need to have _The Conversation_. You’ve been putting it off because you hate confrontation, but there’s nothing else for it. This stay-at-home order could end any day now, and when it does, you have a life to get back to.

The thought of leaving Dean behind makes you sick to your stomach.

.

.

.

You don’t see Dean again until after dinner. He knocks on your door. You’re back in bed, finally getting around to the TV watching you had been trying to do earlier in the day.

“Hi,” you say, sitting up against the headboard. “You missed dinner.”

He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Wasn’t hungry.”

You pat the bed next to you and watch as he comes to sit down, his steps slow and measured. You wonder if you’re overreacting when you think this feels like a breakup.

“What’s bothering you? And don’t say it’s me researching. You’ve had something on the tip of your tongue for weeks.”

Dean sighs, his head hanging forward, defeated. “How do you know all my tells already?”

Your lips quirk upwards. “I’m very observant.”

“Uh huh.” He elbows you lightly.

“If the same thing that’s bothering me is bothering you, then we have to talk about it, Dean.” You keep your voice quiet, not wanting to push him.

“What are you going to do when it’s safe for you to go back home?” He asks, finally. He doesn’t look at you. His shoulders are slumped forward. You realize, not for the first time, that Dean expects this. He expects the worst, expects everyone to leave him. You feel your heart breaking a little bit as you realize you’re going to be another person added to this list.

“Dean…”

He must hear it in your voice, because he sniffs, straightening, clearing his throat to hide his emotions. “No, don’t worry about it. I-- of course you’re going to go back. You have your family and your job… friends…”

“Dean, I don’t want to go.”

That stops him, but when he finally meets your eyes, you can tell he doesn’t believe you. “It’s okay,” he tries to placate you. “You have your life, and I’m not going to get in the way of that. You’re probably ready to be back in your own place again, anyway.”

You’re frustrated that he’s making this decision for you, but you can also tell that his mind is made up. There’s no talking Dean out of sabotaging something that he’s convinced was always going to happen anyway.

The conversation ends there, and so does the relationship. The touches and the kisses and the late night talks, they all stop. He’s cutting you off, and it hurts, but in a way, you understand. He has to stay here with his brother and you have to go back home. It’s better this way.

Probably.

.

_**One year later** _

“Christ,” Sam curses, dodging another blow as Dean rushes to back him up, barely shoving his brother out of the way as another knife flies out of a block on the kitchen counter and misses him by a few inches.

This spirit is stubborn.

Finally, the object tied to it is found and burned, and Sam and Dean collapse on the floor against the wall, trying to catch their breath.

“I can’t keep going like this, dude.” Sam says, wheezing. “It’s been nonstop. We need to go home.”

Home.

Dean’s been avoiding it, just like he’s been avoiding any and all mention of any cases in Iowa, in the off chance that he might see you, or be reminded of you… like he is at the bunker. A sweater you left behind, the flannel of his you claimed that day when you helped him work on the Impala… it’s all too many memories that remind him why he never brings people home anyway.

“Fine. Sorry, you’re right.”

After quarantine ended, it took months for things to even be remotely back to normal. There’s been a rise in hauntings lately and Sam and Dean couldn’t avoid a few calls they got over the last month.

After they stop at the motel and clean up, they pack up the car and head for home.

Dean thinks too much on the drive; trying to stop himself from wondering what you’re doing and if you’re okay. You texted him a few times, but Dean thought a clean break was best. Sam thought he was an asshole. It’s true, but he tries not to dwell on it.

Approaching the bunker, night is falling, and the sunset is casting an orange light over the property, the trees looking like they’re on fire.

Sam tenses at the same time that Dean does.

There’s an unfamiliar car in the drive, and Dean slows the Impala.

“Expecting anyone?” He asks Sam, sharing a worried look with his brother.

The driver’s door opens, and Dean slams on the brakes when he makes out your features. Your hair is longer and darker, but your eyes are the same. So is the feeling in the pit of Dean’s stomach when he realizes that you’re actually here.

“I’ll be damned,” Sam whispers, getting out of the car to greet you.

Dean’s frozen in the driver’s seat.

When he finally gets out, Sam’s made himself scarce, and you look nervous.

“I was beginning to think you were going to avoid me,” you say casually, leaning against your car.

“Don’t think I could if I tried.” Dean goes for honesty, loving the way your eyes soften. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Dean.”

.

.

.

You tell Dean about the last year and he fills you in on how it’s been going for them. You tell him you took some time off work and have to reassure him that you’re fine - you just needed a break.

“This last year was hard on me mentally. I was so stressed during the pandemic and going back to normal felt terrifying.”

He doesn’t judge you, just watches you carefully.

“I also wasn’t happy with the way this ended.” You gesture between the two of you.

He says your name gruffly, but you don’t let him interrupt.

“I’ll leave if you want me to, but I miss you, Dean. I thought we’d at least keep in touch, but I realize I really hurt you when I left. I didn’t mean to.”

He rubs a hand over his face. “It wasn’t your fault. I was fine. _Am_ fine.”

You shrug. “Okay, well I’m not.”

His eyes are dark when he looks at you again. You repeat yourself. “I missed you.”

He clears his throat. “I missed you too. I’m sorry too, for the record.” He swallows. “I basically kicked you out of here and called it your choice. Didn’t even let you say anything.”

You’re practically shivering by the time his hand finds yours, winding your fingers together. You’ve craved this closeness with him. The few dates you’ve been on lately paled in comparison to the way Dean makes you feel, as scary as that is. You decide to go for it.

“I know you don’t believe in fate and all that bullshit.” You scoot a little closer to him. “But I really think we were brought together for a reason. You took care of me and made sure I didn’t go out of my mind.”

He smiles. “You can take care of yourself. But I’m glad I could help.” He squeezes your hand. “I’ve been thinking about you. Couldn’t help myself.”

He’s so close.

An inch more, and you could lean in, and…

“I really want to kiss you,” he confesses. You can see the apology and the longing in his eyes, and the relief you feel at not being alone in this is only outweighed by the need to kiss him, so you do.

It’s passionate and deep right away, the groan Dean lets out when your lips meet his a noise of desperation and giving in, all at once.

He’s all in. His hand slides into your hair and his other hand leaves yours, sliding around your waist to tug you so you’re straddling him.

Sparks fly across your skin at his touch, and you know instantly this was the right decision. This is exactly where you’re meant to be.

“Wait,” he pants against your mouth, “We have to talk about this.”

“Later,” you murmur. “I just want you. Please.”

At your plea, he groans again, lips finding your neck as he lavishes your skin with open mouthed kisses, leaving you practically writhing in his lap as he holds you tight against him.

“You feel so fucking good.” He whispers, voice gravelly and low. “I’ve thought about this a hundred times. Wondered if I’d ever get to see you like this again.”

His words send heat spiralling to your core, and you can’t help the way you shamelessly grind against him.

“Shit,” He hisses. “If you do that, this will be over before it can start.”

“Then take me to bed, Dean.” You moan, and he’s quick to get to his feet, your legs around his waist. He makes quick, long strides, and then you’re at the familiar door.

He presses you against it, grinding up into you again, quick and dirty, before setting you on your feet long enough to get the door open.

When it slams shut behind the two of you, the look in Dean’s eyes tells you it’s going to be a long night.

You don’t mind in the slightest.

.

.

.

In the morning, Dean watches as your eyes flutter open. He still can’t believe you’re here.

“Hi,” you say, voice cracking as you stretch, and Dean feels it, deep down in his bones, that sensation he had the last time telling him to protect you and keep you here for as long as he possibly can. It still feels selfish, but he’s determined not to fuck it up this time.

“Hi.”

You prop yourself up on an elbow. “What do we do now?”

Dean hums, leaning in to kiss you. “I think we have to talk. But first, breakfast.” His hand finds the bare skin of your waist as he talks, making you shiver.

“Let’s talk now.”

“Sweetheart--”

“I want to stay. I know I have a lot to learn, and it’s dangerous, and we’ll probably fight about it, but I want this, Dean. With you.” You shrug. “There: talk over.”

Dean shakes his head, letting out a disbelieving laugh. “Just like that.”

You grin. “Just like that. Easy.”

Dean knows it’s not that easy. But being with you is, and he’s not willing to give that up.

Not this time.

.

_Just give me One good reason,  
_ _Not to love you_

_**End** _

**Author's Note:**

> If you like what you read, please consider commenting, and sharing this on Tumblr if you have an account! Feedback means the world to me. Reblogs to help share my work mean even more. Thank you for reading!
> 
> _I know this is a scary and anxiety-inducing time for many of us, so I hope this helps give you a distraction and make it a little more light hearted. Stay safe, stay home, and wash your hands!_


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